This past summer, Anne-Marie Slaughter generated a tsunami of commentary with her Atlantic cover story about “Why Women Still Can’t Have It All.” According to the magazine’s editors, the article broke records for online readers, Facebook likes, and comments, and it inspired response articles in a number of other publications. Building on that success, the magazine is running another potentially controversial piece on women’s lives this month, Hanna Rosin’s argument that the “hook-up culture” on college campuses is empowering women.
Both writers acknowledge, in different ways, that when they say “women,” they really mean white middle-class straight women. Slaughter states directly that she was “writing for my demographic—highly educated, well-off women who are privileged enough to have choices in the first place. We may not have choices about whether to do paid work, as dual incomes have become indispensable. But we have choices about the type and tempo of the work we do. We are the women who could be leading, and who should be equally represented in the leadership ranks.” I appreciate Slaughter making this point; too often, when people write about “women,” they don’t acknowledge class differences.
Yet I also can’t help imagining the potentially productive conversation between a woman from Slaughter’s “demographic” and a working-class woman about strategies for achieving work-life balance. After all, working-class women have always worked, often in jobs that don’t have clear time and space boundaries (home-based piecework, taking in boarders, child care), and the tension between doing your job and caring for your family is one they’ve navigated for generations.
Rosin ackowledges working-class women more directly in her piece, citing a study by Elizabeth Armstrong and Laura Hamilton that examined the views of hooking up by college women from different class backgrounds. They showed that going to college reflects “a classed self-development imperative that discourages relationships but makes hooking up appealing.” In other words, Rosin suggests, women choose casual sex over committed relationships in order to preserve their ability to, as one young woman put it, “maintain the lifestyle that I’ve grown up with.” Rosin mentions that the working-class women in the study found the hook-up culture “alienating,” but in order to “succeed” in the eyes of their peers, they had to adapt to it. Those who didn’t were seen as “the dorm tragedies.”
She also notes, again briefly (perhaps because it doesn’t fit the narrative of her article), that the working-class women “felt trapped between the choice of marrying the disastrous hometown guy who never gets off the couch, and will steal their credit card – or joining a sexual culture that made them uncomfortable.” In her view, it seems, marrying a working-class man is an inherently bad, even foolish choice. The only other option she can imagine – or the only one that fits her claim that hooking up reflects women’s increasing power — is embracing the hook-up culture. Obviously, there’s plenty of open space and many options between those two extremes, including the possibility that an educated woman from a working-class background could construct a fulfilling relationship with an uneducated man with whom she shares a home culture.
Having glibly exaggerated the tensions working-class women might feel with the “classed self-development imperative” of higher education, Rosin blithely treats the Yale business-school students she interviewed as representative of most college women. In truth, they may be more deeply invested than most college students in the individualistic culture of personal advancement that scholars such as Barbara Jensen have associated with the middle class. So while I give Rosin credit for acknowledging the possibility of class differences among college women, her efforts reflect exactly the kinds of stereotyping and blind spots that Jack Metzgar wrote about here a few weeks ago.
Slaughter overtly excludes working-class women, while Rosin addresses their perspectives in highly problematic ways. Nevertheless, these two pieces suggest an interesting question: what would it mean for a working-class woman to “have it all”?
Given the differences in values between the working class and the middle class (see Jensen’s new book Reading Classes for a good overview, or click here for an earlier version of her analysis), we can probably begin by speculating that “having it all” for a working-class woman would not be about professional success. More likely, it would be about finding the balance between hours at work and hours at home, keeping a job and a steady income while being there for her kids — pretty much the same challenge that professional women face.
So what’s the difference? Choice, for a start. Privileged women are more likely to have the option to stay at home. Many also have the financial stability and social capital to work fewer hours, to travel less for their jobs, or to choose a job that is more flexible. Some earn enough to be able to hire help. One reason we don’t hear much about working-class women debating whether they can have it all is that they have few options. Most have to work at least one job, and they do forms of work that allow them little if any control over their shifts or working conditions. Many probably have some choice of which job to do, but many do not. They do the work that is available, under the conditions that exist, and they do the best they can with their families. So there’s nothing to debate.
That’s the standard thinking, right? But it might not reflect the whole story. In her 2011 book, For the Family? How Class and Gender Shape Women’s Work, Sarah Damaske argues that while working-class women cite financial need as their reason for working, they are also motivated by the satisfaction they find at work. Working-class women, Damaske suggests, feel pressure to claim that they work in order to fulfill the needs of their families. Work may be a source of pride and identity for working-class people, but for women, especially, family roles are even more powerful. Yet in Damaske’s interviews, working-class women also described their jobs as providing intrinsic motivation. One woman says that it’s her job that “makes me want to get up and go somewhere.” She and others found work meaningful and enjoyable, just like their middle-class sisters.
For professional-class women, the opposite social pressure may well be in play. They feel pressured to achieve as much as possible in their careers. For them, choosing the less-demanding job, or worse, choosing to stay at home, feels like a decision that must be defended, while working-class women feel they must justify working.
Working-class and middle-class women are also likely to have different expectations about family life. In her research for Unequal Childhoods: Class, Race, and Family Life, Annette Lareau found clear differences in how middle-class and working-class families approached raising children. The middle-class version emphasized intentional, organized child development aimed at individual achievement, while the working-class model is less ambitious, built around a vision of more spontaneous, organic development. The middle-class version is also more labor-intensive for parents, requiring constant juggling of children’s schedules of lessons, soccer games, and other activities. No wonder professional women struggle to balance work and family. Even with less flexibility and power in their jobs, working-class women may be able to fit work life and home life together more smoothly, because family life involves fewer activities and less pressure for performance.
As this comparison suggests, talking about “having it all” is never simple. But this much is: gender is classed. That’s old news in Working-Class Studies, but it’s a lesson all those pundits talking about women have yet to understand.